


The Mother Glub

by nihilBliss



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Brat Sub, Bratting, Bulges (Homestuck), Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Dream Sex, Drugs, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Fertility Issues, Magical Tattoos, Mommy Domme, Mommy Kink, Moving Tattoo(s), Nook Eating (Homestuck), Nook Fingering (Homestuck), Nook Fisting (Homestuck), Nook Worship (Homestuck), Nooks (Homestuck), Oral Sex, Psychotropic Drugs, Rimming, Ritual Magic, Sex Pollen, Sexual Humor, Shameless Smut, Smut, Vaginal Fisting, magic dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 11:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21207746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nihilBliss/pseuds/nihilBliss
Summary: Any troll on Earth C can fill a filial pail and contribute their genetic material to the next generation of trolls to be raised by Kanaya Maryam, her goddess wife Rose, and their team of jadebloods. But humans and carapacians have something that trolls do not have — cannot have. But if you go into the right bars and bookstores, and you ask the right questions to the right people, on a long enough timeline, you’ll hear rumors. And if you ask, and work, and bribe, and steal, you’ll find where your thread of questioning starts to tense when you tug, like there’s something on the other end.Meenah Peixes wants a legacy, and she's not about to do things by half measures to get it. So with a lie on her lips and a knife just out of sight, she does what she has to. But the last step is not anything like what she expects.





	The Mother Glub

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chaotic_actualizationz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaotic_actualizationz/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Cat got your everything?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19050028) by [alcumia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcumia/pseuds/alcumia). 

> For Alcumia, who got me into this mad racket.

Any troll on Earth C can fill a filial pail and contribute their genetic material to the next generation of trolls to be raised by Kanaya Maryam, her goddess wife Rose, and their team of jadebloods. But humans and carapacians have something that trolls do not have — cannot have. Their genetic legacies are trees that can be followed back through time, like how an individual atom can be traced back to the birth of the universe. A troll’s legacy emerges randomly from the noise, and a troll’s progeny is a twin snowflake that may land somewhere near or distant, soon or an era in the future.

It’s not “normal” for a troll to want progeny the way the other Earthbound species do. They all come from the mother grub, and their genetic contributions go back to her, an ouroboric flow. But it’s different for them — if so inclined, they can travel to see where they came from, to see concrete evidence of their impact. It’s not abstract for trolls.

That doesn’t mean trolls don't see how their neighbors take pride in their offspring. Some do. Some want to hold a little grub that looks like them in their arms and scream to the empty skies “I made this!” in triumph, in proof of life. In proof that they were there. 

Many take work in the brooding caverns, volunteering alongside the jadebloods. Others take work as babysitters, nurses, orphanage managers, what have you — vicarious parents. Yet others adopt, mostly outside but occasionally inside of their species. 

Then, there are others. If you go into the right bars and bookstores, and you ask the right questions to the right people, on a long enough timeline, you’ll hear rumors. Maybe you’ll get lucky and meet someone who knows someone. Or maybe you’ll see a troll carrying around a grub or young troll who looks too much like a diminutive twin, and maybe you won’t mistake it for deja vu. But if you ask, and work, and bribe, and steal certain purportedly magical texts of dubious origin and yet more dubious verity, you’ll find where your thread of questioning starts to tense when you tug, like it’s not loose. Like there’s something on the other end.

Meenah Peixes was not the sort to commit to caregiving, or adopt, or — yecch — volunteer. But for anyone who knew her, that would come as no surprise. When she wanted something, nothing short of the genuine article would do. So she found the end of one such thread, and she followed it with a lie on her lips and a knife just out of sight.

But that is another tale, its conclusion foregone.

Tonight, Meenah stands before the vanity in a grubby motel room somewhere in the middle of the desert, where consequences are less likely to come looking for her. On the cigarette-stained mica surface, she rocks a pestle in a mortar, grinding foul-smelling herbs and cactus buttons into something that isn’t quite water. She stops, runs a finger along the bottom of the mortar, looks at the fine layer of pulverized plant matter on her fingertip.

“Shell yeah,” she says. It smells bitter and earthy. "Let's go meet the mother-spirit."

She sets a halved scallop shell on the countertop, beneath a wall-rack hairdryer, and pours the green liquid into it, scraping bits of plant matter out of the mortar. The texts don’t say whether or not you have to swallow the dregs, but she doesn’t feel like doing this twice. Better to err on the side of caution, she thinks, even though that’s one of her least favorite things to do. So she checks the steps she’s written on the back of a receipt, and she double-checks what she has to do next. Once this mixture goes down, it kicks in fast, so she wants to have everything in order first. She slips out of her clothing and carries the scallop shell to the bedside table.

“Alright, all I grotto do is force this nasty shit down and conch out,” she says. So she turns off the light and lays down on the human bed — because of course she couldn’t find a goddamn recuperacoon when she needed it. Whatever, she thinks, as she pulls the covers over her legs. She picks up the shell with careful hands and steels herself. No reason to hesitate; she drains it before she can think too hard.

It’s worse than she thought, biting bitterness like a sea sucker with its guts still full of decaying fish. She grits her teeth, willing herself to keep it down. Why hadn’t she prepared a chaser? She’d taken enough drugs to know better than this. But it was too late at this point. She pulls herself under the covers, still gagging. It’s awful; her tongue feels slippery against the roof of her mouth, and her teeth squeak when she tries to put them together. She’s glad nobody can see her face, right now, because the grimace she’s making would be a humiliating thing to see.

These herbs work quickly, though, and the world goes soft and fuzzy. She imagines her mouth emitting a greenish-black mass of swampy sludge, tentacle-like roots reaching out of it, digging into the pillow and tugging itself free. A foul miasma belches from its core; the bedside light flicks off, and she sees darkness as the fumes blanket her. It stings her eyes. They water; she pinches them shut, tight as she can.

Soon, though, there is light. She sees it glow even through tight-pinched eyelids. Slowly, she eases them open. They don’t sting anymore, so she risks opening them more, little by little.

Fog. Grey-white fog, everywhere, lit by an unseen source. It’s not harsh on her eyes, so they snap open quickly. There’s no bed here, no chintzy taupe walls with anonymous landscape paintings, no tableside lamp, no table at all. She’s on what feels like grass, though she can’t see it for the fog that carpets it. She tries to wave it away; it persists.

“Guess it's doing somefin,” she says.

Her body feels strange, like it’s lost its mass. Is she a ghost again? It’s similar to that, but not quite. She still has some… well, she’s not sure what to call it besides “grounding,” but it’s the thing living things have that ghosts don’t.

“What the shell ever,” she says. “This is reely fucking dumb.”

Bare as a wild beast, she stands and turns, seeking any waypoint in the grey. There’s no sound, no breeze, no outlines of objects to be seen. Nothing. It reminds her of the deep ocean, the parts where she can’t tell which way is up by sight alone. It’s comforting, in a way; she wonders how long it’s been since she’s been in the ocean, and she isn’t sure what the answer is. Either way, she’s not afraid, standing here in the quiet stillness. She’s calm, maybe the calmest she’s been in a long time. But calm will not get her a child.

“Hey! Mother-spirit? Anyone there?” she shouts. “Trying to make a glubbin’ kid here! Did the whole stupid-ass ritual and everyfin! Wanna help a fish out?”

Her voice doesn't echo. It feels dampened, like the fog is so thick that it swallows her words in midair. But she is not denied an answer. Something changes in the light - it shifts from white to faintly green, and it comes together in a vague, distant form. Meenah cocks an eyebrow and, with an internal "fuck it," starts walking.

As Meenah grows closer, she sees shadows across the light - trees, bereft of leaves. It's a grove of sorts, and she's jogging towards it now. The trees reach two or three times her height, ash-white trunks with lonely winter fingers laced together. She stops, regards it for a moment; the light doesn't hurt, but she can't see what's inside.

"Hello?" she hollers. "Anyone in there?"

"Meenah?"

The light dims, and Meenah ducks between the trees. She knows that voice. Is it really...

"Porrim?"

"Oh, hey Meenah," says Porrim. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" 

The trees have grown to form a throne, and upon that, she sits, eyes blank, legs crossed, yet glowing a faint jade green. Black tattoos snake across her arms; she still wears that same black, sleeveless dress, but the fog and the trees give her a gravity she didn't have before.

"Shit, what's up, gill? Didn't expect to see you way the shell out here," says Meenah, stepping in for a hug. "So what, you tryna make a grub or somefin?"

Porrim pulls Meenah into a fond hug. She laughs and smiles, fangs peeking past her glossy black lips. Porrim doesn't respond immediately. Meenah doesn't mind; she's happy to see her friend again, happy for something familiar.

Porrim steps back, hands on Meenah's shoulders, appraising her. She sighs happily.

"It's good to see you, Meenah," she says.

"Shell yeah," says Meenah. "I was thinkin' this place was bunk, but now I gotta change my tuna, huh?"

Porrim giggles.

"Well, if you're trying to find the mother-spirit, you're in the right place," Porrim says. She spreads her arms wide.

Meenah sputters a haughty laugh.

"You're the glubbin mother-spirit? How'd you land this job?"

Porrim shrugs.

"Floating through dream bubbles that should never have existed in the first place gets old," she says. "You work on what you can of your space powers, and you find something useful to do."

"Like helping trolls get knocked up?"

"There's a need. You're not the first one to come here."

"No squiddin'. Well, hey, the books said I was gonna have to bow or some sealy shit, so I'm fuckin jazzed it's you, cuz you know I'm not about that."

"Well, I'm not asking you to bow," says Porrim. She slips one shoulder free of her dress, smooth and confident. "But you do have to prostrate and pay homage."

Now she frees the other shoulder, and the dress slips to the ground, leaving her bare and beautiful. Meenah stares, words lost. Porrim was always one of her sexiest friends, but this? The way her delicate tattoos weave around the curves of her waist to meet above her nook? How the little gold barbells shine against her dark green nipples? The way her handful-and-a-bit-sized breasts sag just a little, enough to shift her beauty from the statuesque into the real and yet more viscerally desirable? Meenah can't help but blush.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying? Because if you are," Meenah says, pausing to grin, "you have no idea how long I've wanted to fuck you."

Porrim curls her lips into a mischievous smile. There's a charge to the air, and a smell of fresh flowers, and the strange little grove seems much smaller all of a sudden. Meenah gets a clear impression that she's misread the situation. She becomes very conscious of her nudity, and her nipples grow stiff as a chill runs up her spine. 

"Oh, Meenah, did you get bored once you figured out how to get here and quit reading? I didn't make what I wanted as tribute any kind of secret," says Porrim. "Now why don't you get on your knees so we can get started?"

The floral smell grows stronger, and Meenah finds a lovely tingle spreading across her skin as a warmth builds between her thighs.

"What, you want me to drop and lick bulge?" asks Meenah. "C'mon, Por, that ain't how ya gill likes to fuck. If I gotta get you off, I got better ways to do it than clam diving."

As she says those words, she feels herself salivating. And what's that smell - something under the flowers, maybe Porrim? The back of her mind prickles, but Porrim's bare figure commands her attention. Magenta beads along the lips of her nook.

"Oh, Meenah, don't you know that real friends don't ask for a discount?" Porrim asks, clicking her tongue. "This isn't easy for me, you know. It's exhausting. But I'm not asking for much. Just get on your knees, worship my body, and be my whore for a little while."

"Your glubbing what?" Meenah spits the words onto the ground.

"Oh, do you prefer slut? Bulge holster? Not that it matters," Porrim says with all the gravity she'd reserve for asking someone's favorite color.

"Wow," says Meenah. "Whale fuck this and fuck you too. Nobody fucking talks to me that way. I'm out."

She wants to stay but turns to go, flashing her erect middle finger over her shoulder. But the trees have changed, their budding branches now woven together. And that floral smell is getting stronger. Meenah feels feverish, but she grasps at the branches and tears them free.

"You're not even willing to humble yourself for this? Well, maybe it's for the best. You'd be an awful parent with an attitude like that," Porrim says, sharp tongue aiming directly at Meenah's pride.

Meenah turns back, anger telling Porrim she's hit home. She stomps over and jabs Porrim in the chest with two fingers.

"You fuck off and stay there," she says. "What, did you decide that you're the arbiter of all things motherly just because you're a milf? The shell do you know about raising a grub? Huh?"

Porrim's smile grows downright evil.

"I know a little about discipline," she says. She sets a hand on Meenah's shoulder, and she's not pushing, but her hand weighs so much. Meenah can't help but sink to her knees. She's not sure what's happening until Porrim pushes her onto her back.

"What kind of fishfuckery are you pulling here, Porrim?" Meenah asks. She tries to sit up but finds herself unable to. And now, she has a clear view of the dewy jade sheen of Porrim's nook. Within her sheath, her bulge twitches and starts to poke free.

Porrim doesn't respond. She circles Meenah like a shark, watching. Then, she sets her bare foot on Meenah's chin, dainty but deliberate.

"Your mouth is filthy, Meenah," she says. "You're repulsive and arrogant. All of this ritual and magic it took to get here, and you act like you get to skip the last step? It's disgusting behaviour."

"Fuck off!" Meenah swears, but with a squelch, her bulge slips free of her sheath. She flushes and wishes she could move.

"That's what I thought," says Porrim, lording it over Meenah. "I guessed that you'd be a greedy little nooksucker who loves being demeaned a long time ago. And what kind of friend would I be if I didn't give you what you want?"

She sets her big toe against Meenah's lips and presses just a little. For now, she's asking, not telling.

"I won't make you say it," Porrim says. "All you have to do is open your mouth, and mommy will take care of the rest."

"Mommy?!" Meenah exclaims, and her mouth is filled with troll toes for her troubles. She sputters but makes no effort to bite down. Porrim curls her toes against Meenah's tongue, and though she's been barefoot in this dream, her skin is soft and clean, tasting and smelling of some floral soap. Floral just like the air. It's delicious in a way Meenah doesn't have the words to describe. Her mind goes hazy with lust, and she runs her tongue between Porrim's toes.

She's wanted to fuck Porrim since they were on Beforus, this she knows and has known. Would it really be so bad to let her take charge? It's not how she usually fucks, but the milf thirst rises yet. So she lets it happen. She fellates Porrim's big toe, making a show of it, lips dragging as she bobs along it. She looks up to make sure Porrim is watching, doing her best bedroom eyes.

"Much better," says Porrim, and she pulls her foot from Meenah's mouth. That flowery taste and the saltiness of skin linger in Meenah's mouth. She feels an emptiness of the kind she feels in her nook when she's been fucked and wants more.

"I thought mommy kinks were a human thing," she says, tone barbed though she's licking her lips. "Have you been fucking aliens, Pornstar?"

There's a twinge of frustration in Porrim's expression before she grins.

"So you want to be a bratty bitch?" she asks. She turns around and squats over Meenah's face, puckered green asshole peeking out from between her cheeks. "Good. It's no fun to demand you stuff your tongue up my waste chute if you're a good girl. I like breaking naughty sluts and making them beg. Now eat my asshole, you filthy seadwelling cunt."

Meenah doesn't get the chance to process how angry and horny those words made her, not that she could extract one emotion from the other. She doesn't get the chance to express the degree to which she is not interested in eating ass. Rather, she finds herself sticking her tongue out, mashing her face between Porrim's cheeks, running her tongue along the soft green skin of Porrim's asshole. To her surprise, it doesn't taste bitter or dirty, just a little sweaty. Is that what has her wrapping her arms around Porrim's hips, burying her face in this perky ass? She's not sure; she's having trouble thinking in concrete terms as she stuffs her tongue past muscle and into Porrim's asshole.

"What a shameless little ass addict," Porrim says with a groan. "You're dripping from just licking my waste chute. Is your nook always this soaking wet when you lick sweaty asshole, or is it because I'm telling you how pathetic you are?"

Meenah manages to pull her face away from Porrim's ass long enough to say "fuck off" before burying her tongue between those cheeks. She pretends she can't feel her bulge drooling down the creases of her thighs. But these soft, round cheeks offer such pleasure, and her lips delight in how smooth gray skin gives way to jade skin that's smoother yet.

Then Porrim stands, depriving Meenah of ass. She whines in the back of her throat, a needy sound that floods her with shame. Porrim locks eyes with her and, with a tender smile alone, grinds Meenah's pride into the foggy ground. Meenah wants to care, but the engorged lips of Porrim's nook and the way the glisten of her bulge makes Meenah salivate... 

Pride is expensive in this dream, perhaps too costly for Meenah.

"Do you understand a little better now?" Porrim asks. Meenah finds gravity less of a burden and clambers to her feet.

"You're in charge here," she says.

Porrim smiles and nods.

"And if you want what you came here for, what are you going to do?"

Meenah swallows. She doesn't have to do any of this. It's a dream, and there are so many ways to wake up. But she's already on her knees, mouth open - when did that happen? - and she feels so right.

"That's better," says Porrim, and she stuffs her bulge into Meenah's mouth unceremoniously. She grasps the smooth, curved horns and holds Meenah in place as her bulge slides down Meenah's throat. There's no way Meenah can breathe; she's gagging and choking. No, she's drowning, and not just because of the drooling jade flowing down her throat. The musk of Porrim's groin makes her head swim, makes her not so much care that she isn't breathing. She's never tasted anything so thoroughly or in such detail.

Porrim pulls Meenah's face away, letting her cough spittle and green genetic fluid. Her eyes water down her flushed-pink cheeks, but she strains against Porrim's grip, mouth wide and seeking that jade green bulge once more.

"Please," says Meenah. "Please let me..."

Porrim doesn't need to hear the end of that sentence. She lets go of Meenah's horns. Meenah stuffs half of Porrim's bulge into her mouth, both hands stroking it. She pulls off quickly, rubbing it against her face, smearing jade green everywhere.

"You're so fucking disgusting,"says Porrim. "Do you want to bathe in my cum?"

"Uh-huh," Meenah groans. She slips her face between Porrim's thighs, rubbing her face against Porrim's nook, bathing herself in it, hoping to work its everything into her skin such that it will be forever a part of her. She kisses its lips with fervor and passion, running her tongue between Porrim's labia when she isn't noisily slurping her cunt.

"I could piss on you and you'd say thank you right now, wouldn't you?"

"Uh-huh," Meenah groans, jerking Porrim's bulge and rubbing it against every part of her head she can manage. She backs off from Porrim's nook and runs her tongue up the length of the bulge. She plants kiss after kiss on it - she really seems to like kissing, Porrim notes.

Porrim entertains the idea of following through on her threat - she controls this little space, so it would be trivial. But Meenah's desperation is turning her on more than expected. She purrs at all this lovely if clumsy attention.

"Who's mommy's little nook-licking bulge holster?" she asks.

Meenah mumbles something before enveloping Porrim's bulge in her mouth. But grabbing Meenah's horns, Porrim pushes her away.

"Uh-uh, Meenah. I need to hear it. Are you mommy's nasty slut?"

"Yes..." Meenah whines.

"Would you beg to eat mommy's asshole?"

"Yes..." Meenah's voice pitches up, needy.

"And how about mommy's nook? Would you let mommy sit on your face and smother you with cunt?"

"Please..."

"But do you want mommy to stick her big, fat bulge into your pretty mouth and fuck it? Do you want to be mommy's filthy cumdumpster?"

"God, fuck, yes..."

"Good whore," says Porrim, letting Meenah closer but just out of reach of her bulge. "I bet you'd do anything mommy asks."

"Anything."

"You'd fuck a lusus if mommy asked, wouldn't you?"

Meenah nods, eyes glazed. She's planted both hands on Porrim's ass. With all her strength, she's pulling, trying to get closer to that delicious crotch.

"Do you want mommy to fuck your face?"

"Yeeeeeesssss," Meenah sobs. Tears of desperation bead at the corners of her eyes.

"Say it."

"Please fuck my face," Meenah says. She's pulling so hard her horns ache. If she doesn't taste Porrim's crotch again, she's going to go crazy; both of them know this to be true.

"The whole thing. Call me mommy, Meenah."

"Please fuck my face, mommy," Meenah says.

And Porrim does. She slides herself into Meenah's mouth, hilting herself in a much more gentle thrust than before. But that ends any pretenses of gentleness. Once she's all the way in, she pulls Meenah off to the tip and slams her bulge back in, thrusting fast and hard, hips rocking and hands tugging horns in time. Her bulge forces its way into Meenah's throat again, again, again, merciless.

"You're fucking made to be facefucked," says Porrim. "This is a better nook than your fucking nook."

Meenah sobs. It's too good. Her eyes go unfocused, and fuschia pours from her groin. Porrim's talking dirty, but she might as well be speaking the truth: right now, Meenah's dripping and whining like her mouth is her nook. Her crotch feels molten hot, and every muscle in her body twitches and shudders. 

"Mommy's gonna breed your fucking throat, you lusus-fucking slut. Mommy's gonna pump your digestion sac full of slurry and make you fucking crawl to eat my asshole again."

Porrim rambles as she pounds Meenah's mouth. Every word is pure stream-of-consciousness. The warmth and slickness of Meenah's throat sends chills up her spine. The pitiful expression of a proud troll whose face is now a hole to be fucked, of a troll who not only knows it but enjoys this station, makes it all the sweeter.

"Mommy will teach your holes to swallow bulge all day long," she says, voice wobbling worse than her legs. She's running out of endurance. "Mommy will take care of her pretty little whore so she's the best fuck out there!"

Porrim squishes Meenah's face against her crotch with a mighty thrust and holds her there as her bulge jolts with pleasure, every nerve in her body buzzing like neon tubes. Meenah's throat struggles against the thing stretching it out, but there's nothing it can do. She doesn't even taste Porrim's cum; her bulge is too deep, pumping genetic material directly into Meenah's stomach. There's so much, Meenah thinks, tears streaking her face as her belly feels fuller and fuller.

Soon, Porrim pulls away, and Meenah falls to all fours, coughing thick strands of cum and spittle onto the ground, gasping for air. Porrim wraps her arms around Meenah's thorax and plants a kiss on her head.

"Good girl, Meenah," she whispers. "You're such a good little fuck bucket for me."

Meenah turns, fuschia tears streaming from her puffy eyes.

"Thank you, mommy," Meenah says in the smallest voice she's ever used. Porrim beams at her, pulling her into a hug, stroking Meenah's head. Meenah nuzzles her head against Porrim's breast. She feels so pitiful, so small, yet so safe in these warm arms.

"Are you ready to get what you came here for?"

Meenah laughs, only once. She's almost forgotten why she came to this place. There is a matter of legacy at stake, after all. She nods, a vulnerable smile on her face. And Porrim lays her down on her back on the misty ground, arranging her arms such that her hands cross below her abdomen, right atop her gene bladder. Porrim squeezes her hand, then situates herself between Meenah's legs.

The trees above are covered with little green sprouts and snowy white buds. Meenah watches as leaves grow and tiny flowers blossom before her eyes, life and growth proliferating themselves. It's beautiful, peaceful, and she begins to drift. Her loins feel warm, as much from lust as the kind of warmth a sunrise spreads. She's not quite conscious of the long, delicate fingers sliding between the lips of her nook. But one finger becomes two, then three, and the sensation simmers into her awareness.

"Mommy," she whines, as fingers caress her shame globes. Already, she's breathy and shivering.

"Shh," Porrim says. "Good girl." She's straddling Meenah, and she brushes their lips together, delicate as a butterfly's wings. She adds her fourth finger, stretching Meenah's nook wider yet.

"Oh, fuck, mommy, it's so good in my nook."

"Take a deep breath for me," Porrim says. Meenah nods. She inhales, holds it, then slowly lets it out as Porrim slides her knuckles past the muscular clench of Meenah's vulva. Everything stretches around Porrim's hand. Meenah tries to exhale smoothly, but her breathing grows ragged.

"So fucking much," she whimpers. "It's so fucking much..."

"I know, sweetie," Porrim says, now wrist-deep in Meenah's nook. "We're almost done."

Porrim shifts to her knees, between Meenah's legs, and places her hand atop Meenah's — somehow, they've stayed crossed atop her lower abdomen, and Porrim wonders at how different Meenah is when in sub space. She's so obedient. So vulnerable. Porrim feels a kind of honor, seeing this. She spreads the hand in Meenah's nook out, flat against the underside of her belly, all but palm to palm with her other hand. With a deep breath, the ivy-like tattoos on her arms glow green. They grow across her hands, down to her fingertips, and there, they touch Meenah's body.

Meenah jerks, clutching her hands tightly together. Where the glow on Porrim's hands touches her, she feels like she's already coming. And then, the glow spreads to her, crawling onto her inside and out, and curling into ornate knots on her skin. She hyperventilates, pleasure spreading from the edges of these glowing marks across the rest of her body.

"Oh, fuck me," she whines. "Fuck, it's so fucking good!"

Porrim says nothing, focused.

"Oh mommy, please, fuck." Meenah's body quakes all over. The pattern on her skin glows brighter, and she feels that glow imprinted on the inside of her nook. It's overwhelming, thought-devouring.

Above, a thousand pink flowers have bloomed and now begin to float down into the clearing below. Porrim's eyes glow a fierce green, and the tattoos flare brighter yet. Meenah feels pleasure surge, swell, stress the bounds of what she can take.

"Mommy, oh mommy!" Meenah squeals. And then, the levee breaks, and she screams at the top of her lungs:

"FUCK ME, MOMMY!"

She hears a scream, and, snapping her eyes wide, she turns to face it. In the doorway of the motel room, silhouetted by sunlight, stands an older human woman, a housekeeper, who's fallen over and is staring at Meenah with shock. 

Meenah snaps her head around, ignoring the poor woman as she collects herself and scrambles out of the room, slamming the door behind her. There's a medicinal bitterness clinging to the back of Meenah's throat — the green liquid for the ritual, persisting. She smacks her lips, body still tingling from... was it really just a dream?

Well, the fuschia wet mark already soaking through the comforter says it was a good dream, at least. She casts the bedclothes aside and sits up to regard the splash zone between her thighs and wonders how long it's been since she came in her sleep. It's everywhere; she's going to have to pay some kind of xenophobic surcharge for staining the mattress or some bullshit, she thinks. 

And then, she wipes her slurry from her belly. On her skin, black ivy tattoos now curl in knots, right above her gene bladder. Right where Porrim clasped their hands together in that dream. She smiles that rare, soft, secret smile, and she knows that she has been given what she so wished to receive.


End file.
